Secrets of the Dead
by paperbkryter
Summary: Set between All Hell Breaks Loose Parts 1 and 2. While Dean mourns, Sam tries to find a way to warn him about the demon's plans, but the demon's plans aren't all that they seem. Spoilers for all seasons.
1. In My Time of Dying Redux

He and Jessica rented Groundhog Day once, and enjoyed watching Bill Murray live a single day over and over and over again. When the movie finally ended, Jess turned to him and asked him if he could have one day to do over, what day would that be? In attempt to be romantic he had said something very banal about the day they'd met. It had satisfied Jessica though and things had gotten _very_ romantic afterward.

If posed with the same question in the present time, Sam would have been tempted to say he'd like to relive his first few days in the womb and have the wherewithal to change his mind about being born at all. _Nah, I'll just hang around here and be reabsorbed thank you very much. _Things would be better all around if Sam had never seen the light of day. His second choice would have been the night the Demon came and the chance to pull Samuel Colt's pistol out of his onesie to shoot the fucker.

In the Hunting business truth was often stranger than fiction, so when Sam woke up and once again found himself lying on the ground in the middle of a ghost town, he immediately thought about Bill Murray. He was, however, disappointed he'd have to relive _that_ day again. On a scale of one to ten, ten being the most sucktastic, the day he'd just finished would have been a ten on the suck-o-meter. After all, he'd been kidnapped by _the _demon, seen a bunch of innocent (somewhat) people get brutally killed, and been forced into a fight in which he'd had his ribs busted and his arm dislocated. He wasn't real anxious to do repeat any of that!

The only positive he could see was that he might be able to prevent some of it from happening, provided he could do just the right thing at the right time. That would be tricky. If it were a perfect world – and it most definitely wasn't, especially where Sam was concerned – he could relive things starting a bit earlier and prevent himself from being abducted in the first place. Maybe if they'd driven a little further down the road...

He had to smile. Dean was simply not a Subway kind of guy.

The smile faded quickly and he opened his eyes to stare up into nothing but dark swirling clouds. Thinking about Dean made Sam realize something was wrong. Firstly, when he'd come to in Cold Oak before it had been daylight. It was dark now, and thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. Secondly, it occurred to him to wonder why the demon would give him a re-do opportunity at all. Was this really a do-over, or merely round two?

Sam levered himself up onto his elbows. He saw lightning flicker far away on the horizon, beyond the treetops surrounding the town. Gingerly he felt of his ribs and felt no pain. His arm was back in play. He flexed it a few times just to make sure, made a fist...good as new.

"What the..."

He'd fought Jake and won, hadn't he? Okay, so he hadn't killed the dude, he still came out the winner, right? Had he been healed and sent back into the game? Ava had been there for months, killing everyone who had come through, but the Demon had implied that this was the final competition.

Rising, Sam stood in the road and looked around. Everything appeared to be the same, and he saw no signs of occupation by either the living, the dead, or the somewhere in between.

He let out a cautionary, "Jake?"

The only response was another rumble of thunder, but when it began to fade Sam thought he heard shouting from the town square. A moment later he did hear the sound of running footsteps. They were coming from the square, heading for the corner of the livery stable, behind which Sam now found himself. He also found himself weaponless, and readied himself to face whoever – whatever – was about to round that corner.

It was Jake. Sam backpedaled a few steps, calling the young soldier by name. If they were both still alive and in the game, there was still a chance Sam could convince him that fighting the demon together was far better than fighting each other.

"Jake!"

Jake ignored him the second time as well. He ran past Sam, running as fast as he could with a strange expression of pain, grief and fear etched upon his features. Sam tried to call out to him one more time but he kept going. In seconds Jake had vanished into the dark. He was, however, not alone, and Sam turned his attention to the man in pursuit. Relief flooded through him when he saw a familiar figure emerge from behind the building.

"Thank God, Bobby!"

_Now _he remembered. Dean and Bobby were there, they'd found him. It still didn't explain how Sam came to be lying behind the livery with his wounds healed, but at the moment, he didn't care.

"Bobby!"

The older Hunter stopped near the corner of a wooden corral that was listing precariously as if it would collapse at any second. He bent, his hands on his knees, panting and wheezing to catch his breath, pausing only once to remove his hat and wipe the sweat from his brow. When the hat went back on, Bobby stood up straight and uttered a curse in the general direction in which Jake had vanished.

Sam broke into a jog toward the corral. Bobby had not heard him the first time, nor seen him apparently. "Hey, Bobby!"

Instead of turning toward Sam, Bobby turned away, looking back over his shoulder in the direction from which he'd came. Sam slowed his pace, approaching more slowly, cautiously, knowing now something was wrong. He began to say Bobby's name again, but this time a sound stopped him in his tracks. It gave Bobby pause too.

The sound was a cry that could only be described as "anguished." It consisted of only a single syllable, and yet the pain within it was heartbreakingly palpable. It spoke of loss, and utter devastation...

"SAM!"

Bobby started to run again, this time with Sam following, but Sam wasn't following for long. He easily outdistanced Bobby, sprinting toward the town's center. It had been Dean's voice they'd heard, and it was Dean Sam saw first as he rounded the corner.

Dean was kneeling in the mud, cradling the body of a man in his arms. His head was bowed so Sam could not see his face, but he could hear the sound of muffled sobs. The grief they held was unmistakable. It came from deep inside him, from a place Dean rarely, if ever, let anyone see. Now it seemed as if he had been torn apart, his heart mercilessly exposed, battered, and broken.

Shattered.

Sam stumbled to a halt. His voice was barely audible, even to himself. "Dean?" He felt dizzy and ill, confused by what he was seeing. What had happened? He didn't understand.

Bobby arrived, pausing only a second before moving past Sam as if didn't exist. "Oh my God!!" He slid to his knees beside the younger man.

Dean raised his head. His face was pale and streaked with tears that still fell from raw, red eyes. His voice was a hoarse whisper. The tone was pleading. "Bobby..."

It was then that Sam saw what – no, _who_ – Dean held. He saw his own face, now a death mask – still, white, lifeless.

"No. No, no, no, no..." His knees buckled. He sat down in the dirt. "Oh, God..."

Blood stained one of Dean's hands. He held it out toward Bobby. It was shaking. Bobby bent to examine the wound in Sam's back, and slowly shook his head back and forth, tears welling in his eyes.

"Damn it," he whispered. "Dean...there's nothing you could have done."

Dean groaned. For a second his eyes rolled back so far Sam thought he was going to pass out. If it were possible, more color seemed to drain from his face. He spoke, a small, broken word.

"Sammy..."

Sam scrambled to his feet. "No, Dean. Wait. I'm here. I'm HERE!" He raised his voice to a shout, hovering close to his brother's shoulders. "Listen to me! We've seen spirits before, just try...look at me. LOOK AT ME!!"

His voice echoed down the road, through the deserted town, but neither Dean nor Bobby reacted to it. Bobby had Dean's face in his hands, forcing him to look up into his eyes.

"Don't you shut down on me, boy. Come on. This isn't the place. We need to get out of here before that damn demon shows up. Do you understand me?"

Dean's grief stricken expression hardened at the mention of the demon. "I'll kill it..."

"How? Huh? How're going to do that?" Bobby shouted. He took one of Sam's arms in his hands. "Get up. Let's go."

"Go?" Sam stepped back as Dean rose, reluctantly, to his feet. "Go where? Don't leave me here!"

The two of them lifted Sam's body from the ground. It hung limp between them, toes dragging through the muddy street. Blood had spread all across the back of his jacket. It dripped from slack lips as his head lolled limply against Dean's shoulder.

Sam followed them, pleading for someone to hear him. "Dean! Dean listen to me! You have to stop Jake. Don't let him get away. There's something going on, something big, something bad, and you have to stop it! DEAN!"

"You know if you keep screaming like that, you're gonna wake the dead."

Abruptly, Sam stopped. As Bobby and Dean continued down the road, half carrying, half dragging his body between them, Sam turned to look over his shoulder. A man-shaped figure materialized from the shadows. At first Sam thought it was the demon, but as it stepped off the porch of the house it had been occupying, its features became more familiar.

"Andy?"

Andy rolled his shoulders in a shrug. "In the flesh." He frowned. "Well, not exactly. I'm guessing if that's you..." he said, nodding toward Bobby and Dean. "Then I'm probably...dead...too."

Sam quickly grabbed him by the shoulders. "Your abilities...do they still work? I mean as a spirit will they still work? Can you send a vision to my brother again?

Sadly, Andy shook his head. "No. I've already tried that. We've been disconnected."

"We need to warn them." Sam let go of Andy's shoulders and turned to watch his brother disappear around a turn in the road. "About what the demon is doing."

"Uh, do we even know what the demon is doing?"

"No, but whatever it is, he's one step closer to being able to do it. He's got Jake. He's got his champion."

Sam's own fate took a back seat to that of the rest of the world, his brother especially. He had a nasty feeling that Dean was one of the first people the demon was going to take care of as soon as his current mission was accomplished. He had no doubt that mission_ would_ be accomplished either. Jake's big words about fighting and kill the demon had been just that. Sam knew the demon, and as good as his intentions were, Jake's will power would crumble under Yellow Eyes' power of persuasion. The bastard would find some chink in the soldier's armor, of that Sam was certain.

"Come on."

He took off again after Bobby and Dean, with Andy close behind.

"There's one thing I don't get," Sam said after a moment. "If I'm dead, why am I still here?"

"You're asking me? You're the expert!" Andy laughed, but there was an uneasiness about it. "I figured I'd wake up toast, you know, considering..."

Sam frowned and looked back over his shoulder. "Considering what?"

Andy pantomimed smoking a joint.

"I doubt smoking pot gets you a one way ticket to Hell, Andy."

"Yeah, but it's illegal."

"That's a human law," Sam chuckled. "Saying you'd be condemned for getting high is like saying you'd go to Hell for jaywalking."

Suddenly Andy stopped in his tracks. "Then why _are_ we here, Sam?" This time there was no mistaking the fear in his voice. "None of the others are. I've seen some people, but they're dressed like they're in some Western movie and they hide from me." He made a wry face. "And this sure isn't Heaven because I'm not rolling in premium weed with Playboy bunnies supplying me all the Ding Dongs I can eat."

Sam turned around and cocked his head slightly. "That's your idea of Heaven?"

"I'm just trying to make a point. Why us?"

"I don't know," Sam said softly. He started moving again, this time at a slower pace. Andy fell in beside him, moving quickly to keep up with Sam's much longer stride. "Most spirits stay Earthbound because they have some sort of issue – something they can't let go of."

"But I don't have any issues. I don't have any _thing._. I live in a freakin' van." Andy shook his head. "And it's not like I'm holding any grudges against Ava. It could have gone the other way around, you know?" He hesitated. "Of course, I did kill my own brother," he added sadly.

"In defense of yourself and others. You saved me, _my_ brother, Tracy..." Sam considered. "You're a good person at heart, Andy." He smiled slightly. "Gay porn visions aside, you never hurt anybody with your abilities. You stayed true to yourself."

"Yeah, I guess."

Sam hadn't fallen either. Jake had been in his sights and was allowed to live. Sam could have easily killed him – and probably should have considering Jake got up and knifed him instead. The demon now had his champion because Sam hadn't wanted to give it the satisfaction of seeing _him_ fall. Had he known the outcome, if his abilities had shown him this future, Sam might have sacrificed Jake and thrown himself to the wolves. His confidence in his own will power was slightly better than his confidence in Jake's, mainly because he knew what he was dealing with and he had backup – Dean. Dean would have found a way to save him.

Or kill him when all else failed.

_Dammit, he knew! Dad knew what was coming! Why didn't he tell me? Why?_

It was pointless to dwell on it now. He was dead, the demon had Jake, and Dean had to be warned about what was coming. First things first. A bitter rant against his father's reticence would have to come later.

"I think we're in limbo because we're not bad enough for Hell, and not good enough for Heaven," he concluded. "The demon did something to us. We can't get in upstairs because of it, but we haven't done anything bad enough to get sent downstairs either."

"Great. I get to spend eternity in Deadwood."

"There has to be a way out," Sam muttered. He was not, however, very confident in _that_.

Neither was Andy. "Yeah, tell that to the people I saw before, the ones that looked like they'd been hanging around here for a while."

The road became a trail, and total darkness closed in around them as soon as they entered the overgrown woodland surrounding the town of Cold Oak. The storm that had been threatening never materialized, although thunder still rumbled distantly and a cold, drizzling rain began to fall. Sam didn't feel the cold, or the rain, nor the brambles that should have been tugging at his clothes and scratching his skin. Instead they passed _through_ him. He heard Andy gasp quietly behind him. It was disconcerting, Sam had to admit.

"Don't look. If you don't look, it won't bother you."

"I'm freakin' Casper, man! It's creepy!"

"Don't. Look." Sam repeated.

He concentrated on the way before him. Even if he hadn't been trained to track, it would have been hard to miss the trail of two grown men dragging a body through the underbrush. There were broken branches and drag marks everywhere. More than once Sam saw blood stains, which made him shudder. He didn't seem to be having any trouble seeing in the dark either, although it seemed to be more of a "sensing" than an actual "seeing."

The wood suddenly parted to reveal another road, and the all-too-familiar grill and duel headlights of Dean's old Chevy. They had already laid their burden down in the backseat. Bobby was riding shotgun. Dean was sitting at the wheel looking exhausted and ill. He stared out into the darkness without moving, without blinking.

"Dean," Bobby prompted.

Dean flinched as if he'd been shot. "Yeah," he said hoarsely, and turned the ignition key. The car rumbled to life. The lights came on, shattering the darkness.

Sam stood there in the headlights. For the briefest moment he thought he saw Dean glance at him, but the moment was gone almost instantly. The Impala slowly backed away. Sam followed.

"Sam!"

He stopped at the sound of Andy's voice. Andy stood at the edge of the woods, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I can't."

"What?"

"I can't leave. Something...I can't go any further." His expression was sad, but resigned. "I guess I have to stay with the others here. My haunt, you know."

"But..."

"Go on. If you can leave, I say leave."

_Unfinished business,_ Sam thought. _I'm not tied to the place where I died like Andy is. I can leave._

"Andy. I promise. I promise I'll find a way to..."

"Put me to rest?" Andy nodded, smiling wryly. "Sure you will. It's your job." He made a shooing gesture. "Go on, Sam. Save the world. When you're done, I'll still be here."

Sam went back to him, clapped him hard on the shoulder. They said nothing more. There wasn't much to say. As Sam broke into a jog, pursuing the Impala down the road, the ghost of Andy Gallagher vanished back into the shadowy wood.


	2. The Quick and the Dead

"_Is Lenore your real name?" _

"_You're smiling. Why do you ask?"_

"_It's not, is it? And now you're smiling." _

"_You're well read, Sam."_

"_Comes with the territory." _

"_I've had many names, lived many lives, and read many books myself. You are correct. Lenore is not my real name."_

"_But an excellent choice, given you're a vampire."_

"_I find the irony appealing."_

Bram Stoker borrowed the line from Gottfried Burger's poem _Lenore..._

_For the dead travel fast._

It was nearly dawn. Sam didn't know how he, on foot, covered the same distance as the Impala in nearly the same time, but he arrived at their destination not long after Dean and Bobby. It was a house, an old, abandoned house about halfway between Bobby's place and Cold Oak; one of John Winchester's many bolt-holes he had scattered all around the country. There was a common room, a couple of bedrooms, and a secret compartment beneath the floor boards containing extra ammo, a first aid kit...

And whiskey.

Sam slipped in through the door as Bobby exited. If he'd been paying attention, the older Hunter might have noticed the cold chill in the air, and the draft where there had been none before. He didn't hesitate, but left the house and shut the door behind him. Sam sighed. He heard the sound of Bobby's car starting. He would be back, Sam knew. Bobby would never leave anyone who had gone through what Dean had alone for very long.

It was like watching a machine.

"Dean," Sam murmured. "Don't do this."

He started out with a shot glass. He'd fill it, toss it back, fill it again, toss it back. Dean did this over and over and over again until he realized there was a quicker, easier way to gain access to the whiskey's pain numbing effects. The glass was abandoned. He took a long pull from the bottle.

Sam made a few attempts to manipulate the shot glass, to hurl it across the room, or simply knock it off the table. He couldn't grasp it. It might as well have been an illusion, and maybe it was, for all that Sam could touch it. He tried shouting like he had before back in Cold Oak, but again, that failed.

"What do I have to do to make you hear me! DEAN! Please!"

He gave up, slumping down into a corner, his arms resting upon his knees, hands dangling limp between them. "This isn't happening. This can't be happening."

Dean gave up on the whiskey for a while. He paced back and forth several times, before heading for the door to a nearby bedroom. There he stopped and sagged heavily against the door-frame. Sam got up and went to him, standing as close as he could to peer over his brother's shoulder. His heart, or whatever he had now, ached at the sound of Dean's broken whisper.

"Wake up, Sammy. This isn't funny anymore." Tears filled his eyes. "Please...Sammy...please..."

"Don't do this...Dean. Come on. Shake it off! You've got to get back out there!"

"Sam..."

Dean didn't move other than to wipe his eyes. He stood there leaning on the wall, staring blankly at the body lying on the bed before him. Sam wondered if he weren't in some sort of shock.

"It's not your fault. You did everything you could."

There was no reaction. Dean simply stood, and stared, sometimes letting the tears fall, sometimes not.

Sam moved away from the door, unable to look at himself lying there any longer. He lingered nearby, however, sometimes pacing, always keeping a sharp eye on Dean. If Dean were to do anything crazy, like attempt to shoot himself, Sam didn't know how he could prevent it.

It was over an hour that Dean stood there in the doorway between rooms. He did nothing but stare, lost in his own dark thoughts, his grief now silent and brooding. Sam's watch had stopped. He kept time by looking at Dean's.

An eternity in limbo, he decided, was going to be damn boring. No wonder so many spirits went loco and started haunting – even killing – people. Sam hadn't even been dead six hours and he was already going stir crazy. His frustration at his inability to communicate was eating at him mercilessly. He'd have given anything for a medium.

There was a sound at the door. Both of them turned, Sam quickly, Dean slowly, as if he didn't care who had come, nor what would happen to him if it were an enemy.

It was only Bobby.

"I brought you this."

Sam had to smile. Bobby remembered. When they were kids Dean's favorite had been fried chicken, greasy, fast food type fried chicken. The bucket slid across the table.

"You should eat something."

"No thanks."

Sam knew from Dean's tone things were going to go sideways. Grief had turned to anger, fueled by whiskey. Dean was on the edge. Angry, hurt, raw inside – he was searching for some way to relieve his pain. Right now, there was only one outlet. It would be turned on Bobby.

"Dean. I hate to bring this up but...don't you think it's time we...we buried Sam?"

Dean turned away, but Sam could see the tension increase across his shoulders. "No." The whiskey was in reach. He took a drink.

Sam glanced over toward his body. So did Bobby.

"Well maybe we could..."

This time Dean rounded on the older man as Sam had predicted he would, but instead of shouting his voice was soft, and cold. That was perhaps even more unnerving.

"What? Burn his corpse? No. No. Not yet."

"Dean..."

"I said not yet!"

Both Bobby and Sam flinched.

Sam frowned. "Not yet? What the Hell does that mean, not yet? Dean!" Dean turned away again, again heading for the whiskey. Sam followed him, redoubling his attempts to make contact. "DEAN! What are you going to do, then? Huh? Just let me lay there and rot? Have you gone mental?"

Bobby was treading on thin ice and he knew it. He spoke very calmly, very slowly. "Dean. I want you to come with me."

"No. I'm not going anywhere."

"Oh, that's great." Sam growled. "I swear to God if you prop me up in a chair and serve me chicken and biscuits I'll really haunt your ass."

He could only watch helplessly as the disagreement escalated. Dean's breakdown had come. Grief became anger and anger became recklessness only barely reigned in before it gave way to violence. Sam had seen this play out before when they'd lost their father. He retreated to a far corner to indulge in a bit of grieving of his own – for his father, for himself, but mostly for the one left behind. The urge to cover his ears, to drown out his brother's agony, was strong.

"_Haven't I sacrificed enough?"_

To Sam's relief Bobby did not react in anger. He did not abandon Dean entirely, speaking with heartfelt concern as he turned to leave...

"You know where to find me,"

When the door shut, and he was alone, Dean sat down at the table. He sat in silence, continuing to drink, until the whiskey was gone and exhaustion finally overwhelmed him. He put his head down into his arms with a sob. Sam saw his shoulders shudder. The tears, however, did not last long. Within only a few minutes he had fallen asleep, finally relieved of his pain – at least temporarily.

Sam only hoped he would not end it permanently. There was a loaded gun on the table beside the now empty whiskey bottle. It lay within inches of Dean's fingers with only two reasons why it would be there – one would be if Dean thought he would need it to protect himself from something. The other...

"Don't do it. Don't even think about it," Sam paced, trying to get his thoughts together, trying to figure out a way to make things right again. "Bobby is right. He's going to need you. The world needs you, and I don't, not anymore. Let go." He paused, feeling a glimmer of hope. "Let me go, and maybe..."

_What will happen to me? I guess that's the question, isn't it? What's beyond this in-between space? Where did Dad go? Is Mom there too, waiting? _

He ran his hands through his hair and reclaimed his spot on the floor. As Dean had watched him, Sam now watched Dean, the only difference being that Dean would eventually wake up again.


	3. Wheel of Misfortune

Dean wandered outside to piss. The house never had indoor plumbing. Sam remembered as a child being given a flashlight, a roll of toilet paper and a warning: check for spiders before you sit down. Only once had they actually found a spider lurking beneath the wooden seat. Dean captured it in a jar so they could get a better look – a shiny black hunter with a bright red warning sign upon her back.

Time's up. You're dead.

John had been livid. He'd taken the spider and smashed it, jar and all.

"_Haven't I taught you anything, Dean? What if you'd been bitten? Or your brother? Huh? Next time try to think before you do something stupid!"_

There were days when Sam really hated their father.

This would turn out to be one of them.

Night had fallen again. Dean came back inside and lit candles. The light was weak, leaving dark shadows around the perimeter of each room. Sam stood within them, cloaked by death, a shadow within a shadow that his brother could not see. Not so his corpse itself, which still lay where it had been for nearly twenty-four hours now. Dean refused to bury it, burn it, or leave it. Now he sat in a chair beside the bed and began talking to it. He talked for hours, reminiscing about things from their past, their childhood, talking about the dreams they'd had – dreams that would never be fullfilled.

Sam knew Bobby would return if he didn't hear from Dean again soon. He was convinced when their old friend arrived he would find not one corpse, but two. Dean was one step away from losing it completely. He was one step away from pulling the trigger.

If Sam hadn't been dead already, listening to Dean describe burdens he shouldn't have been asked to carry, and shortcomings he possessed only in his own mind, would have killed him. He'd thought about it before, what it must have been like to be a child raising a child. Typically Dean never talked about it much.

Until now.

Sam's first word had been his brother's name. It was never John there for birthdays, holidays or school functions, it had always been Dean. When Dean did anything silly, childish, Sam often had to curb his criticism. How could he be so cruel to chide his brother for cutting loose a little? Dean never had a childhood of any sort. He'd been busy making sure Sam had one instead. There was no reason for Dean to condemn himself for anything - but he did.

"_I had one job. I had one job, and... I screwed it up."_

Sam's voice was as broken as his brother's, only Dean could not hear him. "No. You didn't, Dean. You didn't. Not at all."

"_I guess that's what I do. I let down the people I love."_

"You never let me down. You were always there for me, always. This wasn't your fault, Dean." Sam whispered. "Please. Just let it go. Don't do this to yourself."

"_What am I supposed to do? Sammy..."_

"Dean..."

"WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO!?!?!"

The chair fell to the floor with a clatter. Sam flinched. Dean kicked the chair aside and left the room, forcing Sam to hurry after him. He entered the common room just in time to see Dean pick up the gun from the table.

"NO! Dean. NO!"

For a second Sam thought he'd gotten through. Dean stopped, standing stock still with the gun in his hand. Sam approached, hopeful. Had he finally been heard?

"Dean?"

Abruptly Dean snatched his coat off the back of another chair and tucked the gun into his pocket. He grabbed the keys to the Impala, and before Sam realized he was actually leaving, his brother had gone out the door. It slammed shut in Sam's face, preventing him from following. He could only listen to the roar of the Chevy's engine and the sound of her tires spinning as Dean gunned her down the gravel drive back toward the interstate.

The house was suddenly silent.

"Silent as a tomb," Sam whispered. He sighed, staring at the closed door in front of him. "There should be a manual. Secrets of the Dead 101."

He couldn't open the door. If he could, he didn't know how. The only other option was to go _through_ it, something he didn't relish doing.

Standing in front of it, he tried to talk himself into taking the plunge. He knew he should be able to go right through the heavy wooden door, but his mind wasn't quite accepting the fact he didn't have a corporeal body anymore. The mind block was enough to keep him trapped. He had to get around it before he would be able to go anywhere.

"Don't think about it. Just go. Just walk right through...just _run_ right through..."

"Going somewhere?"

Sam turned, startled at the sound of a voice behind him. Fear surged through him first, followed quickly by anger, this obviously an emotional trend when it came to the appearance of the yellow eyed demon. "Son-of-a-bitch!"

"I'm sorry. Perhaps I should have rung the doorbell." The demon chuckled. He stood in the bedroom doorway Dean had occupied for so long that morning. As Sam watched he casually righted the chair and sat down in it. He cast an appraising look at the body lying on the blood-stained mattress before turning his attention back to Sam. "Tsk Tsk. Full rigor. Not pretty."

Sam ground his teeth. "What do you want?"

"I want to congratulate you on your abysmal failure. Showing mercy, Sam? When I told you this was a competition to the..." He jerked his head toward Sam's body. "Death?"

"I'm no killer."

"Obviously." The demon smiled and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You were about to go chasing after big brother weren't you? How foolish, considering you have no idea where he's going."

As much as he hated it, Sam had to admit he was right. He did not, however, have to admit it out loud, so he didn't.

"He's going," the demon said casually. "To the crossroads where he thinks he might sell his soul and bring dear little Sammy back from the dead – oh, don't worry," he added quickly, as Sam moved toward the door again in alarm. "He can't. You're far beyond the ability of our little bargain maker to resurrect." Slowly, he stood up and made his way toward Sam. "But...Dean doesn't have to know that does he? We can let him think your return was his doing. He likes playing the hero doesn't he?"

Sam frowned. "What do you mean, my return?"

"You've been granted a reprieve, by a very influential individual. You see, Jake is useful, yes, but you Sam, you are the one we've been waiting for, and save for a minor technicality, you won the battle."

"You said I'm beyond resurrection."

"And you are – by the gal at the crossroads. Nor do I have the power to bring you back. No, Sam. You have the honor of gaining the favor of - as I said – a very influential individual, a very powerful individual. You will have your life returned to you."

Sam's eyes darted quickly to his body, then back again to find the demon smiling at him. "What's the catch?"

"Ah, always the pessimist."

"What do you want from me?" Sam demanded.

The demon's yellow eyes flared bright for a moment, flickering like the flames of the candle behind him - or the fires of Hell. "The usual, your soul." He shrugged. "I could only do so much to turn you on to our cause. Possession of your soul would insure your complete cooperation."

"Right," Sam snorted. "Some bargain. I'd rather stay dead."

"Well...all right. Stay dead." The demon took his time, strolling around the room quite leisurely as he spoke. "But I must tell you that when Dean discovers the crossroad demon can't bring you back, he's going to blow his brains out all over the interior of that cherry ride of his." Glancing over his shoulder, he grinned. "Do you know how hard it is to get bloodstains out of leather upholstery?" A chuckle followed the smile. "So you keep your soul and you stay dead. You aren't going anywhere any time soon, except maybe insane, but you'll still have a soul." The demon stopped his stroll, turning toward Sam with one eyebrow raised. "Wow, Sammy! That's like being stranded in the middle of a desert with nothing but a rowboat."

"I won't be your slave."

"Who said anything about slavery?" The demon affected a hurt expression. It didn't last long, quickly turning wry once more. "You'd leave the fate of mankind in the hands of a man trained for killing? Jake is already showing signs of enjoying his new power. Ironic that he was the one to off little Ava. They're very much alike." Smiling, the demon tilted his head toward Sam with a nod of acquiescence. "But you, Sam, you're different." He tapped a finger against his temple. "You use your head. You think before you pull the trigger. I've always liked that about you." The same finger turned to point at Sam's chest. "And that's what makes you a good leader."

Sam swallowed heavily. "So...I won't...turn evil?"

"Evil is relative, and it's your choice. You'll hold all the cards, Sammy."

"So these terms..."

The demon brightened, as if Sam had already agreed to said terms. "You and your brother will both live, and after a year's time, you will fulfill your destiny and lead my army to war. Just you. Your show. I'll be strictly hands off." He approached Sam quickly, standing close, whispering in his ear. "But just think, Sammy. Things don't have to be so bad. Like I said, you are a smart boy. You can bring this war to a peaceful conclusion, stop the killing, the destruction. Men are as bad as demons – you know this. You can bring them all to heel, Sam. Bring peace to the world."

"And Dean?"

"He can have the life he's always wanted. You'll have the power to grant it to him." That sly grin reappeared. "Really, Sam. What have you got to lose – besides your soul of course, but I wouldn't worry about that. If you lead this army to victory, you surely won't be getting into Heaven, and Hell will no longer exist." He shrugged and moved away again. "Not to mention the fact you'll gain immortality. My superior rewards his loyal followers very well."

Sam walked away. He moved past the demon to the bedroom and stood over his own body much as his brother had earlier. His eyes closed as he struggled to make a decision.

Where there was life, there was hope. A year. He would have a year before he would be called up to serve – or whatever. Anything could happen in a year. There had to be an out. He and Dean would find it, and if they failed, and there wasn't a way to prevent his defection, Dean would just have to put a bullet in him. Their father had told him this was his duty, and Sam had made him promise.

Dead, they were both useless. Alive – well it would be a gamble wouldn't it, but as long as there was a chance...

"Okay," Sam whispered. He opened his eyes. "Okay."

"What's that? I didn't catch that."

"I said, okay. I'll do it."

"That's what I thought you said." The demon came over to him and looped an arm over his shoulders. "Welcome to the club, Sammy." After a quick squeeze, he stepped back again. His grin broadened. "Oh, and did I happen to mention you would not remember this little conversation once you came around?"

Sam's eyes widened as he realized his mistake. "What? No! Wait..."

It was too late.

The demon gave a nod.

"See you on the other side."


	4. Soul Survivor

The spirit of Sam Winchester was gone, returned to his body, which lay slowly healing in the other room. By the time his brother Dean returned Sam would be very much alive, and ignorant of what he'd experienced between the time his life ended, and when it began again. As for Dean himself, he'd be under the impression he'd sold his soul and brought his brother back to life. Later, if all went according to plan, he'd be left wondering if he'd done the right thing or not.

A low, whispering voice came from the shadows in the darkest corner of the room. The yellow-eyed demon turned toward it.

"And so the wheels are set in motion," the voice said. "Nice work as always, my friend."

Azazel inclined his head. "Thank you, Lord."

"You know what you are to do next?"

"Yes, Lord."

The shadows shifted. One stood out among them, darker than the others, a swirling black mass that would, if any human were there to experience it, stink of sulfur.

"You have long been my faithful servant Azazel. I will be saddened by your loss, but some sacrifices are necessary for the greater good."

Azazel bowed his head. "I am more than willing to give myself up for the cause."

The shadow moved across the room, and as it did so its form shifted, solidified, until a human figure stood beside the bed where Sam lay sleeping. "I like this boy," it said, its voice changing to better match the body it now wore. "You have created a worthy successor, and thus far have done well to prepare him." A smile appeared upon the shadow's new face. "But now it falls upon me to guide him the rest of the way." It turned its head to regard Azazel with an intense dark-eyed gaze. "John Winchester will find _his_ way through the gate, I will see to that, but do not forget to set the seeds of doubt in the older boy."

"I won't, Lord." Azazel grinned. "I am actually looking forward to it."

Nodding, the other came back into the common room. "As you prepared Sam for this battle, so too did John prepare _his_ son. The brothers' bond is strong. It has been proven to be stronger than death itself. A wedge must be put in place between them, or we will not be able to gain the upper hand, regardless of our possession of Sam's soul."

"I understand, Lord. It will be done." Azazel took the nod he received in reply as a dismissal, but he hesitated before moving on to begin the next stage of their plan. "I'm intrigued by your choice of guises."

Lucifer's smile returned and formality was abandoned in favor of more casual, human speech. "Now, now, Azazel. You know as well as I do that our Sammy prefers blonds." She drew closer, leaning in toward his ear to whisper: "And please, call me Ruby."

**END**


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